Crossing You Out
by Deida
Summary: It all started with a secret, one harmless omission of the truth, and it snowballed from there, ending up in the hospital. In love with Pickles but ultimately turned down, she has no one left to turn to but the one person that's been there for her through it all - Skwisgaar. PicklesxOc, possible SkwisgaarxOc. Sequel to "Only For the Drummer" and "Zeroes and Ones", recap inside.
1. Dethplanation

It all started with a secret. One harmless little omission of the truth.

Charles Ofdensen had lived his life for Dethklok, bending over backwards for their every idiotic whim, practically running himself ragged to ensure their safety (even when they had no idea that they were in the hot seat), but there was a time when that wasn't the case. Seventeen years ago, sometime before the formation of Dethklok, he had lived for himself, doing what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it and seeing who he wanted to see when he wanted to see them. Meeting at a concert by sheer luck, Ofdesen there as an assistant to the band's flaky manager, he had met the vivacious Ravenia Nightfury. After one chance encounter in the the men's room, their lives had changed forever...

After sharing one night together in the back of a bathroom stall, Charles hadn't seen or heard from Ravenia, nor had he expected to. Seven months had passed, the encounter forgotten in his mind, when randomly one day, on a coffee run for his boss, he had seen a very familiar face waiting tables. A very pregnant face. Figuring through some quick mental math that he could have been the father, Charles approached her. She tried to deny it, but he persisted. After she had the baby, a few weeks premature, Charles had demanded a DNA test that ultimately proved his suspicions correct. He was a father.

Proud and independent, Ravenia had reached a bargain with Charles, helping him to further his career almost overnight, on the condition that he left her and the child alone. In one of the most regretful moments of his life, he had agreed to her terms, additionally paying a handsome dollar to their daughter, of his own volition. Well compensated for his absence, their daughter had been born to a large trust fund, told her entire life by her mother that her father was dead, no further information given to her, the money supposedly inheritance.

Seventeen years later, after being rendered unconscious and forcibly removed from her home, she had woken to find herself in Mordhaus. Walking down the halls, she stopped at a sound she took to be torture. Bursting into the room, she saw not a man on the rack, skin split from a whip and oozing infection, but a man in the throws of self-passion. A man she would alter grow to care deeply for, who had come to care for her in return. Fleeing from the sight, she had ran into none other than Charles Foster Ofdensen, the father she had known to be dead. Charles, taking her into his office, had told her of her mother's will, revealing that she had been left under his legal guardianship until the time she reached adulthood.

Attempting to balance the knowledge that her mother had just died with the feelings she had for a certain drummer, heart weighed by the guilt, she had found herself involved with the older man, he himself weary of her situation. They knew it was wrong on so many levels, but it felt so right... Thrown yet another curve ball when they had discovered that Dethklok was about to go on tour, the couple had made preparations to handle the pressures of the road. Hiring her old babysitter to pose as Pickles' girlfriend, the teen had fallen unconscious during the show, having been sick prior to the collapse. Rushed to the hospital, the doctors had found the cause of her illness not to be food poising or the flu as suspected, but pregnancy. Learning of this, though unaware of who the father was, Charles had left her in the room alone, furious. Checking on her, Pickles had come into the room as an ultrasound was being preformed, finding out that her father had not been mistaken when he told the band. Frightened and feeling unworthy, he ran, leaving her alone, pregnant with his child...

**- Metalocalypse -**

**- Eight Months Later -**

The room was bathed in darkness, the bottle-green curtains drawn tight against the outside, casting an unhealthy sap-green light that amplified the lake theme of the bedroom. Dejected, various clothes items littered the midnight blue carpet, a week old puddle of puke near the foot of the circular bed caked to the aqua undertones. The bed itself, meant to resemble a lily-pad, was a jumble of spring green blankets and light coral sheets, a fluffy vanilla bathrobe discarded haphazardly at the edge. More than filth, the room stank of despair, depression, and abandonment...

Dark head turned away from the mirror, the shape of a woman was slumped against the vanity, her shoulders heaving as she cried, hands crossed under her forehead, umber locks falling into her dead grey eyes. Today should have been a day for rejoicing, a day for smiles, laughter, family and friends, but instead it was a painful reminder of what she had lost. _Pickles._ Oh, God, even thinking his name was like ripping away the flesh from bone, rubbing lemon juice and alcohol over the wound with a barbwire brush, the skin just pulling away, leaving nothing left.

There was a soft knock on her door. Looking up hastily, her hopes half up even though he had barely looked at her since running out, she tried to rub away her tears, but the evidence remained regardless, so she had given up the effort, her voice shaky, "Come in."

A blonde head poked into the room, taking stock of her meager surroundings with abundant distaste, though he did not comment on it, "Scouts, the parties ams almost dones." He looked at her, noticing that she was only half dressed, "Yous shoulds reallys finish gettings dressed."

She looked down, seeing that she was still wearing nothing more than a slip, the material bunching up slightly at her enormous belly, one of the eggshell straps hanging off her shoulder, "I'm sorry, I sat down here to brush my hair," Her eyes flickered over to a sturdy wooden hairbrush, "But then I started to think about him, and I..." She started to cry again, dipping her head to floor in shame.

It wasn't in his nature to care, his mother seeing to that with her neglect and promiscuity, but all the same, Skwisgaar did not favor the notion of watching the teen bawling her eyes out over the likes of Pickles. Oh yes, he had known of their secret romance almost before they did, quietly observing the way that they would look at each other when they thought no one else was looking. He wasn't stupid, he could see the way she would light up when the drummer had entered the room, the red head himself becoming a little less dark. It would also explain her lack of interest in the strapping Swede.

Gliding smoothly over to her, Skwisgaar picked up the hairbrush, running it through the strawy rat's nest she called hair, "If Is ams not holdings it, Is woulds have asked yous if yous ams havings a brush."

"I remember when my mother used to brush my hair," She sighed, her mother's funeral feeling like a lifetime ago, another person ago, "Did your mother ever...? No, I guess boys don't have their hair brushed."

They were silent for a moment, Scout wincing every now and again as he loosened another knot. At first he had more or less attacked her head, but seeing that it was causing her pain, he laxed up on his strokes, moving his wrist slowly, rhythmically. She had been through enough already; she didn't need him to add to it. A good mannequin, she moved her head at the slightest nudge, turning her head with the shadow of gesture.

Whatever had happened between them, it had left her a scarred husk, the bright girl she had once been gone, replaced with a mere shadow of her former self...

"Mys mother used tos has mes helps hers gets ready. Is woulds brush hers hairs ands helps hers gets dressed." He said at last, breaking the sob-filled silence, "Buts thats ams years ago."

If asked when she had first moved in with her father if she would have ever expected that in a few short months, she would have stricken up an unlikely friendship with Dethklok's resident philanderer, her answer would have been something along the lines of a 'hell no'. Ever since arriving at Mordhaus, Scout had known next to nothing of her new roommates, with the exception of a few rumors and Skwisgaar's reputation with the ladies. That had done nothing but land him automatically on her bad side, and as far as he was concerned, she was of little to no consequence, registering more as an ambiguous Klokateer or bandmate's girlfriend than a female. That didn't exempt her as prey, but it did stall the hunt.

It had been a livable arrangement for the two of them, until the second or so time that they had crossed paths directly. It had been the morning after a party (not a particularly good or memorable event), the guitarist waking early with a hangover, going to the kitchen to get some coffee for his head. She had been awake already, eating her breakfast while reading a textbook for her home studies, not suffering as she had not partaken in the events of last night, though she had been present for them. Mistakenly thinking that she had hit on him, he had hit on her, only to be rejected for "not being her type".

Set against each other from that point onwards, she did not hide her contempt for him, nor him from her, both taking every chance they got to be rude to the other (for the record, she was nothing but sweet to the rest of the band, even Murderface, who completely hated her). But that was before she had found out that she was going to be a mother...

**- Metalocalypse -  
**

**- Several Months Ago -**

Alone with Skwisgaar, Pickles and Scout were sitting in the hot tub, Nathan at the dentist, Murderface in the studio with Dick Knubbler, allegedly working on some stuff for his side band, Planet Piss, and Toki was away hanging out with Dr. Rockzo. They had been planning on a little alone time together, but having shown up after Skwisgaar had noticed them, muttering something Swedish about Scout, they had no choice but to spend some time with the guitarist. All of the band more than aware of Skwisgaar and Scout's feud, Pickles had tried to help them find some middle ground (more than a little annoyed by their bickering).

"So, Skwisgaar, did ya know that Scout here plays the violin?" He went with the one thing he knew that they had in common, not knowing much about the other man, despite the fact that they had known each other for years.

He scoffed, "Pft, the grandpas guitars? Thats ams dildos."

Though she had lost her passion for it when her mother passed, she was infuriated that he would besmirch the name of such a beautiful instrument, "How dare you!" Her eyes narrowed down to slits, hands clenching so she wouldn't slap him, "Insult me all you will, but you had best leave the violin out of it! I mean, can you even play the violin?"

He opened his mouth to argue, but this once, just the once, she had him, "Nej."

She smirked, glad to have this one victory over him, though she was disappointed that only Pickles was there to witness it.

**- Metalocalypse -**

Setting the brush, made of ash and inlaid with Brazilian rosewood, back down on the vanity, Skwisgaar turned from Scout to face the dresser, lined with overflowing, unfolded clothes, and began to fish around in them for something for Scout to wear. He knew that once, before her disastrous break-up with Pickles, she was a neat person, much like himself, everything tidy and not a seam out of place. It sickened him to see her reduced to more than a wild animal living in its own filth, feeling so low and uncaring that she stubbornly refused to let a maid in to clean.

Pulling out a layered mint-colored skirt and an off-the-shoulder cyan sweater, he draped them over the back of her chair, "These wills looks goods with yous eye."

Skwisgaar had been so good to her, understanding and helpful, not once trying to extort her (not that she had anything to give him even if he had tried). When Pickles had abandoned her in that hospital room, she had felt her world caving in around her, even the baby not enough to keep her on this earth. She had been utterly devastated, but Skwisgaar had given her the strength not to end it, to be the best mother to her child that she could be...

Thin hand upon her bony (slightly meatier now that she had put on some baby weight) shoulder, Skwisgaar gave it a tender squeeze before leaving the room so she could get dressed, assuming that his presence had recalled her to the present. Seconds before he could remove his hand from her bare shoulder, looking up at him with her grey orbs from behind a curtain of brown tresses, she placed her hand over his, a ghost of a smile upon her lips, her skin clammy. With his free hand, he took her hand in both of his, raising it to his bent head as he rubbed it so she could warm up, breathing on it.

"Thank you, Skwisgaar, you've been such a good friend to me, taking care of all the things I can't... If it weren't for you-"

"Shh." He commanded, dropping her hands, "Don'ts talk likes that."

Solidifying ever so slightly, her smile was joined by a slight nod, "Thank you, min hopplös vän."

It was a term of endearment turned cruel irony... _My Hopeless friend_... She had become the hopeless one...

* * *

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own Metalocalypse.

I do not condone the actions that may or may not take place throughout the course of this story, including but not limited to language, sexual content, drug use, and any illegal activities involving minors.

Swedish provided by Google Translate.

REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!

**Author's Note:**

Hopefully, this captures the tone I was going for... The sense of loss, of unbridled pain and the sinking despair of an emotionally impaired, pregnant teenager. And hopefully Skwisgaar wasn't too far off the mark either...


	2. Baby Showerklok

Scout Ofdensen, the unofficial little sister of Dethklok, sat on the couch in the living room, for once completely glad for the poor lighting in Mordhaus (it partially hid her eyes, puffy from her uncontrollable crying), completely surrounded by boxes upon boxes of baby gifts, monochromatic ribbons of obsidian and frost silk flowing from paper streamers of the richest scarlet, the red cutting a gruesome scar like the one Pickles had left in her unhealed heart. A huge banner draped from the ceiling, laminated surface dusky as the hole in her chest, the blood-red letters hand painted by Toki, saying "WelComez Baybayi". Like the rest of Mordhaus, the living room had been completely baby-proofed already, causing massive inconvenience for the band, stacks of presents temporarily replacing some of the miniature gates that so befuddled the drunkards.

Dethklok, her friends and brothers, surrounded the young mother-to-be, her dearest little brother Toki sitting on her left, handing her the gifts to be unwrapped. Nathan, her secretly protective older brother, was on her right, throwing a Klokateer the unread cards and letters (largely from their fans, celebrities, and some of her mother's old friends), his feet up on one of the larger boxes. Murderface, the step-brother who had only begrudgingly come to accept Scout into the family, was out on location filming a new commercial for a car ad in Japan, and so he was not present, though there was a gift from him. She was saving that for last (if she opened it all). Charles, who was still keeping a reserved distance from his daughter, was otherwise occupied with work, though he had set up a savings account for the baby, prepared most of her will, and had given her a small box wrapped in a magenta ribbon (which she was waiting to open in private). She understood that he had yet to warm up to the situation (her staunch affirmation that she had no idea who the father was the largest part of his anger, that, and the fact that he had failed from keeping her from making his mistakes).

"That's ams as large bears." Skwisgaar was seated next to Toki, holding a gigantic stuffed bear that would have come to his waist if he had been standing, relieved to see that she had finished getting dressed and had came down to the party (Toki had put a lot of work into it), able to put on a brave face like she wasn't dying slowly in the worst possible way, even though he knew better.

Holding back, doing her best to stay light and look anywhere other than at the father, she agreed, "Its almost bigger than I am."

Having drunk his fill of booze even before the party had started (everyone but Scout served wine by the Klokateers), and therefore drunker than usual, Pickles had decided to grace Scout's baby shower with his presence. Ever since stumbling into the hospital room that one fateful night, he had done everything in his power to avoid her as much as he possibly could, a difficult feat given that their rooms were only a hallway away from each other. It was a dark twist of fate, and had he been even a little more sober, he never would have gone to the party...

Rightfully so, he had felt terrible for running out on her like he had, but it was for this reason alone that he had done it. Pickles wasn't a father, and he surely was no good for the teen, adult or not. He was scum, the worst kind, even worse than Seth, and if he had stayed with her, her life would only have gone down hill. She might not have realized it in their blind passion, but he was no prize; old, haggard, drunk, difficult to say the least... If there was one thing he could have done for her, it was to remove himself from her life, no matter how much they both hated it...

Even still, he had yet to say a single intentional word to her...

"Wha' isn't bigger than ya?" He slurred, Midwestern accent becoming thicker, tripping as he walked over from the back of the room to stand behind Scout, her false smile faltering with his growing proximity, the hand that wasn't clasped around a bottle gripping the back of the couch, "I'm surprised I could fit anyting into your va-"

"Pickles!" The drummer's mother shouted at him when she had come into the room, "You're getting sloppy! Seth," She called over to her precious Seth, who was sitting at the other end of the room with the fathers, his own child in his arms, "Why don't you go help your brother? Sweety," Molly addressed her daughter-in-law, who was with the mothers, whom had been in the kitchen conferring with each other about Scout's scandalous state (and what a shame it was that their idiot sons weren't with a nice girl like her (Serveta actually saying with her)), "be a dear and help him? Pickles can be a real handful!"

Upon hearing about the baby shower in the media, the families of the band had arrived with the excuse of wishing the expecting mother well, livid that they had to find out about the girl that way. As if they even knew who the mystery girl even was! Dragging along the entirety of the family, that meant Seth and his own as well, the mothers had spent the last few days not hounding their sons encircling Scout like a multi-headed vulture, allowing her almost no breathing room. She was actually sort of happy about that, them giving her something else to focus on other than her failed love-life. It also gave her a rare chance to get to see how the world's most brutal metal band became who they were. Aside from Nathan's family, who seemed normal and mostly likeable, everything added up (meaning that Nathan just had a unique psychological build).

Hearing the scornful way his mother said his name, Scout understood more than ever why Pickles had chosen to drink his life away, though that didn't mean she forgave him for his latest stunt. She didn't forgive him for anything, she couldn't...

Casting a weary eye over at her brother-in-law as she made her way through the room, saying to Scout as Pickles was collected, "I'm so happy I married the good brother."

Seth was quick to agree, "That's right, babe. Love of my fricking life! But seriously little girl, be thankful that the dad was anyone other than this asshole right here. Seriously, he's my brother and I love him, but fuck, you have to face it - he might have made it big, but he's a real lowlife. Two famous bands, and did he ever do anything to help us out? I ask him for a little bit of money, and the cheap asshole tries to beat me to death. True story. Even one of these sorry S.O.B.s right here would be a better dad for your kid. Seriously, you look familiar. You been to Australia at all in the last couple of months?"

And now she understood why Pickles was Pickles.

"Er..." She was saved having to answer that by Nathan.

"So, what are you going to name the little scamp?" Nathan asked, tossing the tenth unread letter over his shoulder, curious as the rest of them about the new baby and its name.

Not even aware of the sex of the baby, Scout had yet to make a list of potential names (that lack of organization unheard of for her), "Again? I don't know... Waffle Iron? Why do I have to know right now? I'm having a hard enough time designing the baby's room... Peach, ecru, teal, shit green... I swear, it never ends! And all of the tabloids... Oh, don't get me started on the tabloids! 'Mystery girl black-mails Skwigelf into steamy romance' or 'Mystery girl seen leaving Mordhaus after secret rendezvous with front man Nathan Explosion'! 'Mystery slut knocked up; Dethklok the father?' It's enough to make you want to heave!"

"Sounds like the rumors they tried to spread about me during my time as Miss Sweden." Serveta mused aloud, mostly ignored. Alright, everyone heard her say it, but only Skwisgaar and Scout didn't look at her. Scout was too busy watching Pickles being forced from the party, and Skwisgaar never listened to what his mother said anymore, tuning it out as he shredded on his Gibson (or air shredded when he actually didn't have it, such as right now).

Skwisgaar scoffed, continuing the conversation with Scout, acting as if his mother hadn't spoken, "Pft, as ifs yous coulds blackmails mes."

"Ares yous sure thats yous don't knows whos the fathers am?" Toki lightly pressed, bring them back to that dreaded point, sure that she was hiding something about it, refusing to believe that she was a whore that would sleep around.

Pickles, who was still technically in the room, looked over his shoulder at her, waiting to see what she said to that. They all waited with bated breaths, her pregnancy one of the most mysterious and talked about in years. Who was the father? How many candidates had there been? Was she unsure because it had been one gigantic orgy, or had she been drugged? Was she protecting someone? The question was on all of their minds, and maybe now they would get another answer...

"Toki, Scouts ams sures!" Skwisgaar, who had figured on his own that Pickles was really the father, jumped to her defense, shouting at the little guy.

Back when she was in the hospital, the day that she found out that she was in fact carrying Pickles' fertilized seed, Skwisgaar had paid her a visit, trying to reassure her that she wasn't alone. Originally disliking each other, Scout wrapped up in Pickles and Skwisgaar upset with her snub, it was clear that they weren't friends. At all. So it was strange when he had went to see her, stranger still that they had spoken to each other without the use of insult. But somehow, speaking candidly and in Swedish, they had bonded, getting over their animosity and becoming acquaintances. Ok, maybe a bit more than an acquaintance, but considerably less than a friend. Their relationship had grown slowly, the term friend only comfortable between them these past few days.

"Thank you, min hopplös vän." She smiled at him, using what he knew her to mean as a term of endearment, "Jag skulle gå förlorad utan dig."

Skwisgaar wished that she wouldn't have said that in front of his mother, positive that she would try to twist it to her own advantage. Indeed, Serveta looked pleased by what she heard (both by the words themselves and that they were in Swedish, directed at her son no less), though she said nothing. That boded ill. She had never really cared much about her son, but if he could marry a girl like that (even if she wasn't Swedish), a girl that could bring glory to the Swigelf name, prestige that she had not tasted since... Well, maybe he wasn't such a lost cause after all...

"Uh... Yeah... Some of us don't speak that crap." Nathan, with his ever-present death-growl, reminded her that he was there too.

As if she could forget about him! No, seriously, she would probably always remember him stepping in, saving her from her tool of an ex-boyfriend (the one that people could know about, the one that wasn't Pickles), "Sorry Nathan, everyone. Who wants some cake? We're starving over here..."

On que, her stomach growled, demanding to be fed. Rolling a cart over to the guests from the kitchen, Dethklok's personal chief, Jean-Pierre, began to pass out slices of an actually edible strawberry cake, starting with the guest of honor. Thumb backwards and hanging off, he smiled at his masters and gave the mistress the thumbs-up, leaving the cart near the couch so that they could have another piece if they so wished. Sweet guy, sweet guy. Ripping into her cake like there was no tomorrow, practically eating the plate it was on, Scout allowed the subjected to die, watching the door slam behind Pickles.

"Wowwie, this ams a goods cake!" Toki smiled, eating the special sugar-free slice made especially for him, the topic forgotten for now.

Scout smiled over at him, wondering how she had gotten along in life without them, her real family...

* * *

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own Metalocalypse.

I do not condone the actions that may or may not take place throughout the course of this story, including but not limited to language, sexual content, drug use, and any illegal activities involving minors.

Swedish provided by Google Translate.

REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!

**Author's Note:**

In case anyone's confused, the recap was the first part of the chapter, before the eight months later bit. Probably not, but whatever.


	3. Dethbrawl

Being flung into the wall, head bouncing off of the sturdy stone, green eyes hazy and swimming in pain, Pickles looked up at the two figures standing over him, lording their power and superiority. Their love. Seth and Amber, standing side-by side, looked down at the drummer in disgust, wearing identical sneering masks, judging him for what he had done. What had he done? Scout had looked so happy; laughing, smiling with everyone, but when she had seen his face, his miserable face, she drained away, looking as if she had seen the person she loved most in the world, shot right before her eyes, the blood splattering all over her, soaking her to the bone (maybe after this, he would run that by Nathan for a song on the next album). She looked destroyed, a mirror image of her face that day at the hospital reflected in her eyes. It was the same look she had on her face every time that he looked at her, whether or not she even knew he was there.

"You're a fucking piece of shit, ya know that? All you do is play a little rat-ta-tat-tat, and them idiots pay ya a million dollars. Must be nice, not having to work for your money, getting to bang all those hot sluts without any consequence. Dad was right about you; You belong in a garbage can!" Seth glared down resentfully at his brother, spitting on him.

Normally Pickles would have fought back verbally and physically kicked Seth's ass, but he knew that he was right, his voice low, dripping with shame and self hatred, "I know."

How could he not know that he was worthless? Pickles had fought his entire life for even the slightest recognition, and the one time he had gotten it the right way, without strings or the nagging feeling of guilt, he had spat in her face. All Scout had ever done was care for him as Pickles, not Pickles the drummer or Pickles from Snakes N' Barrels, but plain Pickles, the man. She knew all his faults (or most of them), of his short comings, but she had overlooked them, seeing something in him that he didn't even know he had. She loved him, and he betrayed that. She even lied for him, saving him when she easily, as a scorned woman, could have turned on him and made him pay for what he had done to her. Even after he had hurt her so grossly, she protected him...

She was a fucking idiot.

"You know?" Seth repeated incredulously, turning to look at his wife, "You hear that Amber? He says he knows what a douchebag he is." Attention back on his blood kin, he ducked down so his mouth was next to Pickles' ear, "You don't know shit. Amber," He said her name loud enough for her to hear, "Why don't you go back to the party? I wanna have a word with my brother."

She rolled her eyes, dusting off her peach taffeta skirt, going back into the other room without a word. What did she care what he did, let alone to his brother? So long as she wasn't on the receiving end, she didn't care who he hit. Maybe the kid would be an issue, but Seth wasn't as stupid as to strike the child and leave proof. He was a smart guy, smarter than given credit for...

"You think you have it tough? I have a fucking mouth to feed and a fucking ball and fucking chain to come back home to! You think I don't want to bring back some of your slutty fans and have some fun with them? Fucking Amber is always bitching about all this stupid shit, but you don't see her lifting a finger to help, do you? And you, you fucking dirt bag, you sit here bitching about how bad you have it? I don't know how they do it, how any one can stand being near you! Even that fine piece of ass back in there can't stand to look at you. You know you've hit it low if a knocked up whore won't-"

Seth's rant was cut short as Pickles lunged at him with his full body-weight, tossing his entire body at his brother. What he had said about himself might have been true, but what he had said about Scout was not only as far from the truth as a lie could get, but completely out of line. Even if it were true, it would be a warm day in hell before he let anyone call her a whore. Elbowing his older brother in the ribs, red hair began to fly as they exchanged blows, Seth getting kicked in the face as Pickles was jabbed in the side repeatedly. Kicking, swearing, and screaming, Seth grabbed his brother's left ankle and twisted it in his hands, causing the drummer to yelp out in pain (at least it wasn't the wrist). Taking him by his full head of hair, Pickles began to bash his head into the door, breaking not only Seth's nose (and probably half of his face) but the door, large hunks of wood splintering out into the room.

Spilling back into the room, there was a high-pitched scream as Scout tried to run over to Pickles and pull him back (even though he was winning the fight). Grabbed on the shoulder before she could take two steps, Skwisgaar shook his head at her, stepping between the two brothers on her behalf, pulling them apart. But not before Pickles registered that the fight had moved back into the living room and Skwisgaar was standing over him, the red head's fist colliding with the lead guitarist's nose. Blood trickled down his nose, but the Swede paid it no heed as he shoved Seth away from his friend. The family had watched attentively, the mothers none too pleased by the bloody skirmish (especially Molly, Pickles and Seth's mother). In a dizzy, Scout scrambled over to Pickles and Skwisgaar while Molly and Amber checked on Seth.

Overcome by hormones (and possibly adrenaline at what would have made for an excellent cage match), Scout looked at her first with tears in her eyes, "You ruin everything!"

Panting from the intense work-out, proud of himself for doing one good deed, he looked at her as if she had slapped him, "But Seth... I stood up for you-"

"No." She shook her head, resolute to block him out, "I don't want to hear it! You take, take, take and you..." She trailed away, unable to say the words aloud passed her sobs, "I hate you! You're a fucking asshole who just takes what you want, and you give nothing back, not even a an explanation or an apology... I hate you, and I never want to see your face again!"

Breaking down into incoherent babbles, Scout could only look down at the floor (or as much of it as she could see around her stomach), her fists shaking, nails biting into her flesh. Acting quickly and while most everyone else was busy fawning over Seth, Skwisgaar steered her away, saying to the room at large, "Shes ams gettings his-stares-i-kals."

Guiding her passed Pickles and out of the room, he shrugged at his band mate, leading her back to her room so she could let it all out...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Sitting Scout down on the edge of her bed, sweeping everything to the side or floor so she could lay down if she wished, Skwisgaar looked down at her, the innocent little girl that she still was. True, she was no longer a virgin (he had no idea if she was even before coming to Mordhaus), and she was expecting another man's child out of wedlock, but that didn't mean that she was a hardened adult either. Unlike him, she wasn't versed in indifference and an expert in the art of disappointment, her life still holding the chance of possibility. She had grown up without a father, but she had had a mother who loved her, and even after losing that, she had a family who cared for her. She had tasted the forbidden fruit, dancing through the Garden, but the keepers had not shunned her, had not condemned her to writhe in this lonesome hell...

Beyond registering that a woman was in fact a woman (or feminine enough), Skwisgaar didn't usually look twice at a woman, but Scout... Scout was different. Look wise, she was probably hovering somewhere near a six or seven (give or take), not that he really paid heed to what was above the belt, and personality wise... Well, let's just say he barely paid his guy friends any attention. The point was, at first glance, there was nothing special about that girl to set her apart from any other woman on the planet. In fact, the only reason he disliked her (and secretly desired her) was because she had told him 'no'. Besides an unfortunate deep-sea dive that was forgotten by all, he had not been turned down by a woman, not until Scout. In fairness, he had suspected that it was because of her attachment to Pickles (which he failed to understand), however, when that came crashing to a fiery end, he thought that he would have had a shot with the distraught (and therefore vulnerable) young woman. But no, she has made it impossible for him...

And then from there, as his chances continued to dwindle and their platonic relationship grew, he found himself in a strange and unwelcoming place. Slowly but surely, he was getting closer to her, lowering his guard, succumbing to her unknowing assault. Without meaning to, or even aware that she was affecting him, Scout had made it passed his fortress of ice and had sat at the throne, warming the barren landscape with just her presence. It amazed him how she could have this affect on him without realizing it, leaving him with the unbearable coldness when she wasn't with him, the desire to hold her near, to protect her from the razorblade that his friend held to her heart overcoming him. Somehow, she had single-handedly built the bridge between woman and friend, friend and lover, her magnetic appeal to the lonely and rejected forming the foundation.

It was crazy for him to think it, to image what it must have been like for Pickles to be able to call her his, to hold her as she wept through the night. It was insane. The closest he had come to having a serious relationship (that could have worked) was in Sweden, when he had temporarily quit the band to find his father. She was a nice enough girl, but too plain for the likes of a man of the guitarist's caliber. He needed a woman that could shove back at least every now and again, and Scout was more than capable of that, bearing her claws at him long before the pregnancy.

She was furious at her ex, absolutely fuming over this, outraged that he had had the gull to not only crash her baby shower not once, but twice! TWICE! The bastard... If she wasn't so full of baby right now, she would go and give him a piece of her mind... No, she took a deep breath, that was the hormones speaking, not herself. Reasoning be damned! He was an asshole... Wasn't it enough that he had left her, alone and with a child? Wasn't it enough for him that she would cry herself to sleep at night, wishing that they could at least pretend that they were happy together, his arms around her, lips caressing her skin lightly? Wasn't it enough that she cared about him so much, spending what should have been a time of joy and happiness in tears? Wasn't it enough for him that she loved him?

She had never said the words out loud before, not even to herself, but he must have known that she did, that what they shared had been real? But it was too late for that now, wasn't it? The dream had ended, so now it was time for her to take responsibility for their actions, to be the mother to the child they had unknowingly brought into the world in a moment of passion and... She would have said love, but it was so brutally obvious that he had never loved her... She was such a fool for believing in her heart, in the moment...

Holding her hands together, lacing and unlacing her fingers, she glanced absently over at Skwisgaar, barely seeing his silhouette through her animosity, "I can't believe I actually ever gave him a second look. I ought to have known better... I swear, it must be his life's goal to vex me..."

Skwisgaar wasn't sure if he should agree with her or not, so instead he went with, "Is shoulds be gets backs to thes parties."

Looking up at him as if noticing him for the first time, she blinked stupidly, "You're hurt. Here, she got up, not without some difficulty, and opened the bathroom door, "Let me have a look. It's the least I can do for you."

"Is ams fines." Skwisgaar protested weakly, finding himself willing entering the once handsome and royal room, figuring that Scout had suffered enough irritation for one day, so what would it harm to placate her?

Sitting Skwisgaar down on the toilet so she could reach his face better, the lid down, Scout ran a towel under the tap, getting it cold so she could apply it to his nose. The bleeding had probably already stopped, the injury mild at best, but all the same, he had only gotten involved because of her, so this was the least she could do, insignificant as this was. He had done so much for her, there was no way that she could ever hope to repay him, though that didn't mean that she wouldn't try to.

Well aware that he wasn't much for physical contact outside of the metaphorical bedroom, she grinned good-naturedly at him, glad for the small surrender, holding the clean rag to his face, gently dabbing away at the dried blood. If she hadn't known better than to look twice at a guy like him, she would have thought that he was exquisite, all fine angles and glass, his allure the frailty he hid just under the surface. His prime appeal was his guise of stone, the finest of it, but just underneath the varnish, when he wasn't on the defensive, it was fragile, breakable by the simplest touch. It might have seemed otherwise, what with her always bemoaning the loss of Pickles, but she had noticed Skwisgaar and the ground that he gave her, the special attention. He was a splendid creature, and had she been in a more suitable place, a place absent of her most recent loss, she would have given chase.

Reprimanding herself for thinking that way, of how gorgeous Skwisgaar was, Scout made up her mind to look away from him, her eyes roaming up from his defined lips, passed his high cheekbones, falling into the mesmerizing void that was his eyes... No, Skwisgaar was her friend, dare she say best friend (illustrating just how sad her life was if someone like him was what she considered to be her best friend). It would be false to say that she hadn't thought about him, wondering what could have been, but she was still hung up on Pickles. Even if she did like him like that, it just wasn't fair do to Skwisgaar!

As if he could ever like her for more than being just another piece of ass... Much as she loved him (as a friend), she knew who he was, what he was, and it would be fooling herself to think that there could be anything more than what they had now, or mindless sex. Probably great sex... But there was more to it than that, and she doubted that with Skwisgaar there could be more. Again, that was all assuming he returned her feelings and that she was magically over Pickles. In every way, it wasn't meant to be, so why agonize over it?

* * *

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own Metalocalypse.

I do not condone the actions that may or may not take place throughout the course of this story, including but not limited to language, sexual content, drug use, and any illegal activities involving minors.

Swedish provided by Google Translate.

REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!

**Author's Note:**

... I have nothing more to add here.


	4. I Hate Being In Love With You

Pickles watched numbly as she was led away by the Swede, her words ringing in his ears, stinging his body as they sunk in, thin needles working their way to his core, to his heart. His heart? It must have been, the ache was radiating from his chest like a light, crimson in the middle and black at the edges. He had convinced himself that he had no heart, going so far as showing her that he had no part of himself capable of giving her what she needed, of being there for her, but apparently he had been mistaken... He had a heart, and it was breaking...

This recalled to him the time when the band was forcing him to either get sober or to quit/be replaced. At that time, and considerably longer, it was the hardest thing he had ever had to face in his life, but he had done it. Mostly. But he had faced it, the serpent holding him back, the fucker that made him black it away, and he had become sober. If he could do that, why couldn't he at least try to face Scout and do what needed to be done? _Because you're a worthless fucker._ It was true - he was a waste of skin and bone, not fit to be with another, and definitely not suitable to be a father. He had gotten passed his demons, but he had not slain them, and he hadn't stayed clean, not even slowed down. She had never asked him to, but that was when it had just been them, so it was only a matter of time if he had stayed. Besides, his leaving her had absolutely nothing to do with drugs and alcohol - it was about the kid. It was petty, but he was afraid of it, that he would fail it, that it would hate him, that it would steal away Scout and turn her against him... It might have taken years to happen, but he felt in his gut that if he had stayed, ultimately, she would grow to hate him one way or another, because of the kid. So, he expedited the situation...

The answer couldn't have been clearer, but the question remained: How? How could this have happened? How could he have let that happen? How could he just let her go like that? Not just with Skwisgaar either. How could he have let her go at all? How could he have thought that it was ever a good idea to stay away, to not turn back and go to her, to tell her why he had ran? How could he have done that to her, seeing the pain he had left her with, the constant reminder of all that they shared? How could she have missed it? The remorse bubbling away at his mind, hidden just under the skin, pockmarking him with angry red boils that oozed the blood of demons that circled over his back. She, who had seen beyond the bullshit he put up to protect himself, how was it remotely possible that she couldn't see the regret he wore at all times like a parasitic second skin? How did they end up here, so far apart? How could she not hate him?

He couldn't blame her though, not completely. It was his own fault that she had distanced herself from him... But Skwisgaar of all people? If sluts and gold-diggers had been alcohol, he would have out-drank Pickles, probably. That was actually a close call to make, but the point is that out of everyone it could have been, why in the world was it him? Toki was a sweet guy, and with him, Pickles knew that she would have been taken care of, and at least if it had been Nathan, she would have been safe (as well as the fact that he was used to Nathan getting what he wanted). What could Skwisgaar have given her, aside from an STD and false hope? Arguably he had given her one of those two things already, but his wasn't intentional like it would be with Skwisgaar. As a musician, there was no better, but as a man...? He wasn't saying he was a prize - far from it - but Skwisgaar? He was not only known for being a man-whore but famous for it! The Scout he had fallen for and pined to hold again should have known better...

Had he really broken her that much, that in her ruined state she neither cared nor knew what she was getting herself into? No, that was probably giving himself too much credit (but what else could it have been?)...

Escaping in the bustle of accusations and lies, Pickles followed after Scout and Skwisgaar, keeping his space so she didn't see him, entering the sanctuary that was his room. Eight months had passed, but somehow, every time he stepped into his room, he saw her there, standing in the middle of the room with uncertainty, watching him pleasure himself, or sitting on his bed, sucking the shattered glass from his hand. Sprawled on the floor, her grey eyes looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to touch her, and wrapped in his arms, half asleep on the bed, she confided in him her deepest dreams, teasing him with her torrid fantasies. This place wasn't a sanctuary - it was hell, every little thing a reminder of her...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Scrubbing way at his face as gently as she could, her storm-grey eyes sliding up from her work to meet with his own eyes of ice, the washcloth fell from her hand, falling limply on his thigh, the water seeping through his pants and trickling down his leg. Looking at him, unsure of what to do, to pick it up or just leave it to him (which seemed a safer bet), Scout slowly reached for the dropped cloth, giving him plenty of time to grab it himself. Naturally he, as a member of the ridiculously privileged Dethklok, was too good to do anything for himself, so it was on her to pick it up. If she weren't so full of confusion and hormones, it would have been nothing, but as it was...

That place was exactly where she was. She knew it couldn't have been easy for him, having to put up with her these last few months. She was hormonal, livid one minute and full of repentance the next, laughing when she felt like crying and vice versa. And that was just what she didn't hold back, the war in her mind a much more frightening place. Did she still love Pickles enough to forgive him if he had magically changed his mind about her? Had she the heart to try to move on (even if that meant breaking someone elses)? Was what she felt for her new friend real, or was it just temporary insanity? Even now, she was still as confused as when she started to feel something for Skwisgaar that was neither hate nor gratitude..

Lowering her hand, being extra careful to make sure that she wasn't going to accidentally (or not so accidentally) grab his crotch, she swiped the rag away, brushing his leg for less than a fraction of a second, "Thanks..."

He raised an eyebrow, not understanding her sarcasm, "Fors whats?"

She shook her head, tossing the washcloth back into the sink, "Never mind. Why don't we just call you fixed, hm? It wasn't as bad as it looked, and if we stay here any longer... It doesn't matter." Not trusting herself at the moment, Scout shoved Skwisgaar out of the bathroom and out of her bedroom, lingering at the door only long enough to add, "Thank you, for helping me back there. If it hadn't been for you, I might have said something or done something that I would regret, so thank you, for being such a good friend to me."

"Likes what?" He had his foot in the door so she couldn't be rid of him just yet, feeling obligated to tell her what she must have glossed out of her mind, "Yous ams already tellings Pickle you hates hims."

Between the brotherly brawl and bleeding nose, she had completely blocked out her encounter with Pickles, shoving it in the back of the emotional closet to collect dust. Had she really said that to him? Thinking back, she saw the look clear on his face, the unbelievable anguish and confusion (it was the same look she had on her face eight months ago, give or take). Oh, God, she did tell him that she hated him! She didn't mean it, should could never mean it, not even if she tried (and she had tried to hate him, thinking that it might make the entire thing easier). God, what must be going through his mind right now?

Stumbling back to her bed, Scout fell backwards, slumping in shock, her mouth sagging in a stupor. How could she possibly have told him a thing like that? Pickles was scrappy and had dealt with worse, but she knew how much it had really affected him, how fragile he really was under the surface. This was probably destroying him... At least, if he had loved her it would have, but she didn't know if he even _liked_ her, let alone loved her. And even if he did care for her to some degree, why should she care? He had done this to her first, ripped her heart and shoved it back in her face, stomping on all that she believed in. This was justice, at last!

But why then did she feel so terrible...?

**- Metalocalypse -**

Charles stood at the window, looking out at the setting sun as its rays died over the horizon, bleeding profusely in shades of red and orange, ablaze with licks of violet. Another day, come and gone, and another minute wasted. He had finished his work an hour ago, but he still couldn't bring himself to go to the living room where Toki was hosting Scout's baby-shower. He had yet to forgive her for not only going behind his back and sleeping with God only knows who, but for winding up in the same predicament he himself was in when she was born. He should have been there for her when Ravenia died, just pushed away his work or given it to an intern or a someone, and helped his daughter through it. But no, he had barely been in the same room with her since her arrival at Mordhaus . It was no wonder she had wound up here...

He sighed, turning away from the window to look at the photo on his desk, "It be long before that's you."

The photo was one of himself, uncertainly holding up his newborn daughter for the camera, Ravenia asleep in the next room after a long labor. He had almost missed Scout's birth completely, not sure about fatherhood, but he knew deep down that he would regret it if he hadn't shown up at all, so he did his best to track down his daughter. To this day, that was the happiest day of his life, even better than the first double platinum or Grammy.

"We wanted so much more for you..."

* * *

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own Metalocalypse.

I do not condone the actions that may or may not take place throughout the course of this story, including but not limited to language, sexual content, drug use, and any illegal activities involving minors.

Swedish provided by Google Translate.

REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!

**Author's Note:**

Sitting at three rewrites now, THREE! Before I started this story, most of my work only underwent minor changes, not entire sections at a time! Pft, shows how much I actually care about this, huh? Anyways, I'd like to thank you all for the favs, alerts, and reviews! So, that's all of two people... Rad. Maybe if I was more like Dethklok and hated my... 'fans', I would have more of them? Too bad that is not going to happen... Well, enough of that! This is a story, not a whining section!

(And I enjoy ripping apart my favorite Dethklok member why?)


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